


To Give and To Receive

by TheGypsyQueen



Series: A Study in Contrasts [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, And they straight up fight in this, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Fanart, Kinda, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, No fists, Pining, Rough Sex, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Supernatural Strength, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Verbally, almost an afterthought, idk honestly this just kind of happened, look I don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGypsyQueen/pseuds/TheGypsyQueen
Summary: Or: Is That Really All It Took?Crowley likes to give Aziraphale things. Food, drinks, rides, whatever, it doesn't matter. It's all worth the praise and the gratitude and those glowing angelic smiles.He cannot imagine that Aziraphale would want to return the favor, and doesn't think he should.Aziraphale disagrees with that sentiment.





	To Give and To Receive

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here's the deal, I love me some Good Omens. And I was minding my own business, perusing fan art as I am wont to do, and I stumbled upon this fucking masterpiece right [here](https://www.facebook.com/MultiEleonora96/photos/a.339108726245122/1410002495822401/?type=3&theater) and of course I had to go and open my big fucking mouth and comment about how there needs to be a fic about this. And now here I am. I wrote the fic. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Also this is unbeta'ed, I didn't want to foist this silliness on anyone, so any mistakes are mine.

It started, like all of the worst arguments, over the smallest thing.

But then, that was a bit misleading. The worst arguments might seem to start over the smallest thing, but if you dig down into the root of it, you almost always find that it’s never very small at all. It’s a simmering, festering, decaying thing, brewing beneath the surface, just waiting for the right flint to strike the right steel and burst into noxious flames.

And something had definitely been festering.

Of course, as a Demon, that really shouldn’t have surprised Crowley, and likely wouldn’t have, had he been at all aware of it. That, however, would have required a measure of emotional honesty that Crowley was very rarely prepared to commit to. Emotional honesty was entirely too wholesome and very much against his aesthetic. On the other hand, ignoring his deep-seated issues in favor of terrible coping mechanisms was entirely on-brand, and Crowley threw himself into it with the same bordering-on-manic enthusiasm every day for going on almost four thousand years. 

The months after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t were almost ludicrously relaxed. In spite of the urge to curl up in bed and engage in his serpentine instinct to hibernate for a week (or a decade), Crowley made himself sleep only at night, get up every morning (read: noon-ish), and go to the bookshop. The past eleven years had brought about a new era in his relationship with Aziraphale, one that required near constant contact. He’d relished, secretly, in the excuse to visit and talk and lavish gifts and attention on his angel. He’d worried at first that Aziraphale would want to return to their pre-Anti-Christ Arrangement, wherein they _ might _ see each other once every quarter century at _ most. _ The literal day after they’d thwarted their would-be executioners, Crowley had immediately invited Aziraphale out for a decadent, bank-breaking lunch at one of those haute couture sushi places the angel so preferred, in the effort to stave off any such need for space, but he needn’t have worried. Apparently, eleven years was enough time to instill a habit into a Principality, and Aziraphale was nothing if not a creature of habit. So was the start of nearly four months of _ daily _interactions with his angel, and if it was just habit that kept Aziraphale awaiting his arrival/call, then Crowley wasn’t going to question it.

This was how they passed the last of summer (ending it with a bang and the gleeful purchase of new shoes and _ books _ for their new godson Adam and a new video game and _ books _ for their old godson, Warlock). Summer fell to fall exactly like it had a bit more than six thousand times before, and Crowley loved fall. Not that he would _ ever _ admit that out loud, not even to Aziraphale, and especially not in current “basic white girl” climate. The day anyone caught Anthony J. Crowley with a pumpkin spice latte or enjoying a brisk autumn afternoon would be the day he’d lick Hastur’s shoes, and absolutely none of that was forthcoming.

The reason Crowley liked autumn predated all of those cliches, anyway, by quite a margin. The reason Crowley loved autumn was because _ Aziraphale _adored autumn. Aziraphale loved cozy jumpers and soft blankets, sock-clad feet by a cheery fire, warm tea and cocoa. Aziraphale would absolutely be caught with a pumpkin spice latte, probably from somewhere stupidly fancy, and while he was at it he’d probably enjoy a slice of pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting or would that be too much pumpkin?

This was relevant because Crowley was currently in one of those too-fancy coffee shops Aziraphale preferred, ordering a pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream and a plain black coffee, but the blessed establishment had the gall to offer pumpkin cake by the slice. He liked food alright, but did not have anything close to Aziraphale’s sweet tooth or palate. Was there such a thing as too much pumpkin? Absolutely, he thought, but Aziraphale so rarely agreed on these matters. And Crowley had discovered centuries prior that when in doubt about whether he should get something sweet for his angel, it was always better to just take the dive. But… too much pumpkin? Should he get the salted caramel and dark chocolate tart instead? Aziraphale did love a good tart…

He knew, via demonic senses, that the line of people forming behind him were growing increasingly annoyed, and really, that was just a nice little bonus. If he could nail this order, though, Aziraphale would be beaming happily at him all night. And then all he had to do was order takeaway from that one tapas place his angel liked, paired with just the right red from the cellar, and it was smooth sailing for another evening. Somewhere between the third and fourth bottle of wine (or right around the transition to scotch if his angel was feeling tawdry) he’d gently pump Aziraphale for hints about what to get the next day, and then it was rinse and repeat. He had a system, and the system worked.

He ultimately chose the tart, glaring at it as it was packaged for good measure. His angel _ loved _cake, so that tart would be up to snuff if it knew what was good for it.

He took his drink carrier and the neatly tied package containing the tart slice out to the Bentley, settling the latte and tart carefully in the passenger seat. His own coffee remained in his hand as he haphazardly pulled out of his current illegal parking spot and into traffic. This particular fancy coffee place was actually in Soho, so the drive wasn’t long, and regardless of his reckless swerving, the tart package and the latte both had the good sense to remain upright and immobile. 

There were perks to being a big, scary, fierce demon.

He pulled into his usual (illegal) spot, right outside of the bookshop, and clamored out of the Bentley with his usual serpentine style - not everyone could pull of his particular brand of awkward lankiness and sensual grace, but that was the point. If everyone could do it, he wouldn’t be half as good at temptations as he was. Or, used to be.

The book shop’s open sign was flipped to the “Closed” side, but that had never stopped Crowley before and it certainly wasn’t going to stop him now. The door, definitely locked, opened for him like he owned it, and he marched right in. 

“ I know I locked that door, it had better be you, Crowley,” Aziraphale called from somewhere within the stacks. 

“ Of course it’s me,” Crowley replied, offended that his angel had yet to greet him with another incandescent smile. Or even his presence. Something. “ I brought treats!” he added for good measure, and that did the trick. Aziraphale appeared from between two shelves, covered in dust and only moderately disheveled. His smile was instant and brilliant and exactly the reward Crowley craved. “ It’s from that new coffee shop you like,” he continued, temptingly, holding up the latte that had remained at the perfect temperature. 

“ The one with the pumpkin lattes?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing the latte in question longingly.

“ The very same. Honestly, angel, what do you think this is?” Crowley rolled his eyes, playing at impatience but unable to stop himself from leaning subtly towards the approaching angel. What a terrible demon he made.

“ You’re too good to me, my dear,” Aziraphale beamed, accepting the latte and giving it a long sniff. He sighed contentedly. 

“ Nah, I’m a mean ol’ demon,” Crowley said dismissively. “ Also brought a bit of tart,” he added, pausing to let the anticipation on Aziraphale’s face build up. “ Chocolate and salted caramel.”

“ How delightful!” his angel gushed, and Crowley preened, soaking it up greedily. Oh, there was little he wouldn’t do for that look, that tone of voice, those words. Actually, upon reflection, there was basically nothing he wouldn’t do for it. He’d already defied Heaven and Hell. Might as well call it what it was… in the privacy of his own mind and nowhere else. 

Caught up in basking in his angel’s gratitude, Crowley completely missed the fact that said angel had continued speaking. He caught up just a bit too late.

“ -wouldn’t you agree?” Aziraphale asked.

“ Uh,” Crowley blinked. “ Yes. Sure. Of course.” Hopefully that covered enough bases. 

Aziraphale smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that always managed to make Crowley feel like he was floating, and whatever he’d just agreed to, Crowley absolutely knew it was probably worth it. 

“ Well then, come on back. I’ll go grab a bottle,” Aziraphale replied, still smiling.

That didn’t sound so bad, so Crowley ambled along in his wake to the back room where he sprawled on the waiting couch, determined to take up as much space as (in)humanly possible. Aziraphale disappeared further into the shop briefly, returning after a moment with two wine bottles tucked under his arm and a pair of wine glasses in his hand. 

_ Oh yeah, _ Crowley thought with a grin. _ All according to plan. _

“ Whatcha got there?” he asked out loud.

“ That nice vin santo you brought me back in 1999,” Aziraphale replied, handing the first bottle to Crowley to open. This, like nearly every part of their time together, had become so much a habit it was practically ritualized. Crowley always opened and poured whatever flavor of wine they’d settled on (usually Aziraphale’s choice, though occasionally Crowley felt moved enough to make a pairing himself) while Aziraphale busied himself with the food and his own fussiness about eating it. 

“ Ahh, the Avignonesi, I remember,” Crowley muttered, reading the label before magicking a corkscrew into his hand. He could, of course, miracle the wine open, but millenia of practice had taught him that somehow it just _ tasted better _ when he opened it the human way. Some things simply had to be done with the intent of the creators in mind. “ This should have aged in nicely.”

“ I do think so, yes,” his angel agreed, settling into his chair with a miraculously appearing fork. “ Whatever _ were _you doing in Tuscany in 1999?” he asked suddenly, pausing as he reached for the latte he’d set on his desk. 

“ You know, I don’t recall,” Crowley shrugged, which was of course a blatant lie. He recalled quite clearly the state of paranoid, devastating dread that had come over him, as it was wont to do every few decades, that he hadn’t been quite _ thorough _enough in his plying of gifts for his angel. This had, naturally, warranted a miracle to Tuscany to acquire a case or two of very good wine, and Crowley’s very precise mental list of Aziraphale’s wine stores had told him it was running dangerously low on good wines that paired well with dark chocolate. Thus, the Avignonesi had been promptly purchased, given, and tucked away for almost exactly two decades to properly age. 

Aziraphale liked letting a wine age. Aziraphale liked delayed gratification. These were things Crowley knew, arguably better than he knew anything else in the blessed whole of creation.

“ Well, lucky thing you were,” Aziraphale continued, blithely unaware of Crowley’s mental state as he sipped on his latte with a sigh. “ Do you know, I think I’m running short on good chocolate pairings.”

“ Can’t imagine why,” Crowley teased, pulling his phone from the pocket of jeans that by rights it should not fit in because the jeans were too tight. He maintained an air of perfect casualness as he tapped a quick text to a sommelier whose services he often used, demanding several varieties of Ruby Port, Banyuls, and indeed, vin santo be purchased by the case and delivered promptly to his flat.

“ Don’t tease, you fiend,” Aziraphale chuckled. “ I dare say you are at least half the cause of it.”

“ And how’s that, angel?” Crowley asked indulgently, tucking his phone away without waiting for a reply. The sommelier would do what was asked and she’d do it quickly, and then he simply had to appear them into Aziraphale’s wine stores. It would just be good luck they were there, must have missed them earlier, oh well.

“ Well, you do spoil me,” Aziraphale pointed out, and all of Crowley’s constantly turning mental wheels promptly _ spun the hell out. _

“ I do not!” he protested. “ I’m a demon, I don’t _ spoil _anyone!” 

_ Oh G- Sat- _ SOMEONE, _ he’s noticed, he’s noticed! Play it cool, play it smooth, relax, you’re a tempter, you’ve got this. _

Aziraphale, who was arguably very used to Crowley’s sudden outbursts, sipped calmly on his latte before setting it carefully aside and reaching for the package containing the tart slice. “ My dear, precisely how many days this month have you brought me treats? Or taken me to lunch? Dinner? Both?” Aziraphale paused, raising one eyebrow. “ All of the above?”

_ FUCK. _

“ Don’t know what you’re on about,” Crowley frowned. Denial was always a great place to start.

“ Of course not, dear,” Aziraphale smiled, just enough of a smirk there to make Crowley nervous. But he was letting it go, which was good. The absolute last thing Crowley needed was Aziraphale getting wise to the system. It was such a good system, Crowley hated to lose it. But what was the _ blessed _point of the system if his angel was wise to it?

Because if Aziraphale worked out that Crowley was giving him gifts, _ spoiling him _ , then the angel was precisely one not-so-great logical leap away from _ why. _

And that… that was too awful to think about. 

So Crowley shoved the thought from his mind, uncorked the wine, and poured two glasses. The ritual had to be completed, and he wouldn’t feel right until it was. The sense of thwarted anticipation would be enough to throw him right off for weeks. He stood, handed a glass to Aziraphale, and flopped back onto the couch. His wine did not spill a single drop. He settled into the worn cushions for his very favorite pastime - watching Aziraphale enjoy whatever Crowley had recently given him. 

Books were good, but a bit too long game for joy of watching; Aziraphale would treasure a book forever and that was gratifying, but watching him read it was not nearly so. Food and wine, though… Crowley could watch him enjoy those indefinitely. It was _ sinful _ , the way the angel savored and enjoyed every sip and bite. Every blissed-out moan and groan of appreciation was better than any porn humans ever thought up. And if Crowley nailed a food and wine pairing exactly right, he might get the coveted eyes-rolling-up-into-the-back-of-his-head expression. Oh, how he loved that look. Decadent. Better than anything on the whole planet. That look funded far too many shameful nighttime fantasies. If Crowley were being honest (something he made a point to rarely do, especially to himself), that look was his absolute favorite, and he’d willing jump into a lake of holy water in naught but his pants for the _ chance _ to see it.

Crowley sipped and Aziraphale ate in silence, the former watching the latter as raptly as he could get away with while pretending to be coolly disinterested.

“ I wonder if you’d let me spoil you sometime,” Aziraphale suddenly said, and Crowley’s mental wheels locked up and skid to a screaming halt. As usual, his corporation took that as a signal to launch upright, sputtering and flailing incoherently. 

“ That’s- no- wait, what the hell?!” he babbled, partially because he’d managed to snort a very nice wine and it _ burned _ and partially because _ oh shit the angel isn’t letting it go. _

“ Well, I hardly think it’s that upsetting a concept,” Aziraphale tutted. “ Do sit down, dear.”

Crowley sat down hard and abruptly, generally unable to deny Aziraphale literally anything. “ ‘S’not upsetting, ‘s’unneccesary, is what it is.” 

“ Oh, so it’s fine for you to give me things, but not the other way ‘round?”

“ Yes!” _ Wait, _ Crowley thought, _ that didn’t come out right. _“ I mean, no, it’s just- who said I’m giving you anything anyway?”

Aziraphale gave him a look, eyebrows haughtily raised, and did not deign to respond. 

“ Alright, sssay-” he stopped, forcing his tongue back into a more human shape. “ Say I’m giving you things. I mean, it’s just friendly, innit?”

_ Yes, _ he congratulated himself. _ Exactly, keep it casual. Nothing to see here, angel. _

“ Then it shouldn’t be a problem if I wanted to return the gesture,” Aziraphale concluded, sounding perfectly pleased. 

This was not going the way Crowley planned _ at all. _

“ No, that’s-” Crowley leapt up again, only to sit back down hard enough to make his tailbone ache when Aziraphale gave him that _ look- _the one that was cunning and knowing and cut right to the core of Crowley’s very essence. “ It’s unnecessary, is all. Nothing to make a big deal of.”

“ I disagree,” Aziraphale replied plainly. And then he set the tart _ down, _which was the precise point that Crowley realized several things in quick succession.

Firstly, Aziraphale would not be letting this go. 

Secondly, Crowley was not going to let him get it into his head to go and give a demon _ gifts _, for reasons he was in no way prepared to explore.

And thirdly, they were about to have a _ huge _row over it.

Aziraphale squared his shoulders, seemingly just as aware of the impending fight as Crowley was. In instinctive response, Crowley slouched as hard as he could, shutting his mouth with a _ click _ to hide his elongating fangs.

Such a shame. It had been such a nice start to the evening.

“ Disagree if you want. I’m not accepting anything,” Crowley snapped, eager as ever for the first blow. It rarely did him any good - arguing with Aziraphale could often be as productive as arguing with a post and a lot more frustrating besides.

“ You’re being unreasonable,” Aziraphale asserted in response.

“ _ Unreasonable, _” Crowley mocked back at him. Cheap move, but he was a demon, after all. “ I don’t want gifts, I don’t have to accept them.”

“ Then perhaps I shan’t accept any from you,” the angel snapped, frowning thunderously. And oh, that one hurt. Right between the ribs, that.

“ Oh, like you could stop yourself,” Crowley fired back, instantly recognizing he’d gone _ way too far. _ The flash of hurt in Aziraphale’s eyes was enough to have Crowley backpedalling immediately. “ Angel-”

“ Well that’s cheeky coming from a demon who’s been _ clinging,” _ Aziraphale snarled, and Crowley was stunned right into silence. _ He noticed, oh God, he _ noticed- “ Of course I noticed, how could I not?!” the angel continued, twisting the knife, and whoever said angels didn’t feel wrath had never met the Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate. “ You’ve been banging down my door for _ months _now-”

“ Well I beg your almighty pardon for trying to get you out of your dusty hoard-” Crowley shot back, launching back to his feet in hurt and indignation.

“ I didn’t ask you to do that, to do any of it!” Aziraphale shouted over him, standing up as well. They were well and truly in it now.

“ You certainly weren’t saying no!” 

“ Had I realized that a return gesture would be so unwelcome, I might have!” 

“ Oh, so it’s conditional now, is it? Tit for tat or nothing, eh?” Crowley sneered, unable to stop himself by now. His mouth always ran ahead of his brain, which was an unfortunate trait to have in an argument with someone you… felt _ whatever _ for. “ Gotta keep the scales balanced, is it?”

“ It has nothing to do with balance and you know it!” Aziraphale thundered. Somewhere far below their feet, the very earth quaked. How easy it was to forget what his angel was.

“ If you wanted to just go back to the way things were, you could have jussst ssssaid!” Crowley shouted, feeling his jaw loosen and elongate to match his fangs.

“ Who the devil said anything about that?!” Aziraphale gestured wildly, like he’d very much like to ring Crowley’s skinny neck. “ I just want to give my friend a gift-”

_ Friend. _

_ Friend. _

_ Friend friend friend- _

Crowley’s vision filled with red as that word echoed in his ears. Something deep inside him yawned open, hungry and wanting and absolutely furious. _ Friend. _ As much as he could ever hope for, that. More than he had a right to hope for. Friend. Equals. That an angel, a blessed Principality, would even be willing to acknowledge he existed, was nothing short of a miracle. That that same angel would consider him a _ friend _\- it boggled the mind. It was beyond reason. 

_ It would never be enough. _

It would never matter how many gifts and dinners, treats and tickets that Crowley gave Aziraphale. It would never matter how thorough he wined and dined his angel. Aziraphale was only Crowley’s angel in his own mind, and would never be anything more. It was an exercise in futility, and it always was. No matter how much Crowley indulged his instinct to shower gifts upon the one being in all the universe that he’d ever wanted, it would never change anything. Friends was as good as it would ever get.

_ And it would never be enough. _

This was why Crowley made a point to never indulge in emotional honesty. Dangerous stuff. 

His chest constricted like his ribs were suddenly too tight, and he hissed in pain and fury. The flash of confusion and comprehension on Aziraphale’s face - the knowledge that he’d now gone too far in spite of not knowing precisely how - only fueled the rage.

“ _ Friends?!” _ Crowley spat, with a few flecks of literal venom. His vision grew blurry, a sign his eyes were going snakey. “ _ Friends? _ You are the literal only being on this planet that I can hang around, and you want to toss around the word _ friends?!” _

“ Crowley, dear-”

“ Don’t you ‘dear’ me, _ angel,” _ Crowley roared. Thunder cracked above the bookshop, in spite of a perfectly cloudless sky. “ You’re damned lucky I even come around here, when I could be off getting into all kinds of temptations with all _ kinds _ of _ interesting _people.”

The truly terrible thing about knowing, and indeed, caring for someone for six thousand years was that when you wanted to hurt them, you knew precisely how to do it. To devastating effect.

And it hurt, watching Azirphale recoil subtly. It hurt, watching the implications of Crowley’s words wash over him, that Crowley would rather be elsewhere, was only humoring Aziraphale, would rather be getting into all kinds of exciting trouble with more up-to-date, less fussy people. Crowley had been by Aziraphale’s side too long to not know exactly where to stab to illicit the most pain. But it only hurt as bad as the never-ending wanting did. 

There was a sort of sick, gleeful satisfaction in watching a fraction of his own pain reflected on his angel’s face. He hated himself for it. Perfectly, utterly demonic thing to do, to hurt someone you… have whatever kinds of feelings for.

Of course, for every day Crowley had known Aziraphale, Aziraphale had known Crowley too. And he knew exactly where Crowely’s scales were weak.

“ Then don’t let me stop you, _ demon,” _he spat. Crowley’s vision was blurry and ill-defined, but it suddenly it seemed quite a bit brighter in the back room, and Aziraphale had a few too many eyes. Maybe a lot too many eyes. Scales rippled down Crowley’s skin in response. 

Aziraphale spun away and stormed deeper into the shop, and _ oh, _ that made Crowley spit in fury. He _ did not _get to do that, just walk away! That was not happening. 

“ Oh-ho, that took what, three minutesss for you to drag out the D-word?!” he crowed, following Aziraphale. “ Good job, angel! Can’t let the nasty little demon forget what he issss, can we?”

“ You are being perfectly horrid, and I would like you to please go away.” Aziraphale replied, stalking further away. Crowley gave chase, nauseous with glee.

“ Oh, am I interrupting your evening of book hoarding and gluttony?” he sniped. He nearly plowed right into the angel when Aziraphale stopped and spun on his heel, all of his far-too-many eyes glowing in pure rage.

“ I have no idea why you feel the need to punish me for wanting to treat you _ exactly how you treat me, _ but if you think I’m going to stand here and take it from you, you are sorely mistaken!” 

He just _ had _to cut right to the meat of it, didn’t he?

“ And what are you gonna do? Smite me?” Crowely goaded him. Aziraphale was far too close to the real issue, far too close to discovering the yawning thing inside him, and if Crowley didn’t derail him into another screaming match right now-

“ Go fuck yourself!” Aziraphale yelled, completely derailed, and just because Crowley was enough of a dissociated asshole, he was absolutely gorgeous at the same time. 

“ Fuck me yourself, coward,” he purred.

Which, he realized immediately after he said it, was the exact wrong thing to say.

He didn’t snap, didn’t exert an ounce of will, but time still froze around them. The very air seemed to quiver in anticipation. The earth trembled, and the sky lit with lightning. Though neither of them knew it, trillions of lightyears away, a new star exploded into existence, knocking several meteors off their course and forming new elements in its molten core. It was an incredibly important moment, on a cosmic scale. 

And then, Aziraphale grabbed him by the lapel of his coat and kissed him with enough force to break his jaw, had he been human. And had he not been most of the way to his true demonic form, it might have knocked him off balance or surprised him into stillness, but his preternatural senses saw the minute flicker in the air, smelled the change in the angel’s scent, and he was _ ready. _

He’d been ready for almost four thousand years, if he was being honest, and at this point, he might as well.

He grabbed the angel but the sides of his face, cupping the back of his head desperately as their lips crushed artlessly together. Instinct screamed at him to hold on tight, block every avenue of escape, wrap himself around the angel and _ cling _ and _ writhe. _

Teeth found his lip and _ bit _ hard enough to draw blood and it hurt _ beautifully. _ He pushed his tongue into the angel’s mouth, swallowing a sound far too thrilled to be a protest, and tasted chocolate and wine and righteous, divine fury. Angelic hands ripped at his coat, tearing it down his arms hard enough to loosen them in their sockets, but his serpentine skeleton simply snapped back into place, tossing away the tattered remains of the jacket without a thought. He refused to let Aziraphale’s lips get away, to let _ Aziraphale _ get away - too long, too long he’d wanted, lusted, dreamed, _ needed. _He needed to get around his angel, all the way, lock them together until they were one and there’d be no backing out, no escape.

His hands found the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, pulling at them with as much finesse as he could spare. He was gone, addled, but Aziraphale _ loved _his stodgy old clothes and Crowley would protect whatever Aziraphale loved with everything he had, even if it meant wasting precious seconds of whatever insanity currently had hold of the angel. Simultaneously, Aziraphale’s hands were working at the buttons of Crowley’s own shirt, though with far less care. The poor shirt gave up the ghost and simply ripped under the force of angelic strength, and then his angel’s blessed hands were sliding roughly around his torso, up to cling to his shoulders, digging manicured nails into the muscle. Crowley moaned into Aziraphale’s mouth, and the angel answered in kind.

The waistcoat opened, and Crowley remembered suddenly that he was more than lips and hands, twisting them both to press Aziraphale into the nearest vertical flat surface (might have been a wall, might have been a bookshelf, it hardly mattered). Aziraphale pulled Crowley close, impossibly close, and Crowley gave up pulling the angel’s shirt from his trousers to lean into the soft, warm corporation that he so adored. He focused instead on kissing his angel thoroughly, forcefully, accepting back only as much as Aziraphale forced him to take.

If only the blasted angel let him give, he wanted so badly to give, give and give and keep giving of himself. If he gave enough then maybe he could just be part of Aziraphale, forever ensconced in the safe, loving warmth that was just part of the angel, surrounded by the comfort of whatever small joy he could bring him. But no, Aziraphale insisted on giving back, always so blastedly generous-

One hand that had previously been cutting crescent shaped marks into his skin found his hair, gripped, and _ pulled. _Crowley’s head snapped back and he groaned raggedly, mourning the loss of those lips but reveling in the delicious pain that shot down his spine to pool in his stomach, hot and sticky and swelling. Aziraphale’s mouth, hot and wet and wonderful, closed on his throat and pressed open-mouthed kisses into his skin. The hand that wasn’t in Crowley’s hair slipped down and to his front, fumbling with his belt. 

_ Oh, _this was going so wonderfully fast-

Fast.

_ Fast. _

_ Too bloody fast! _

“ ‘Ziraphale-” he managed to ground out, against every instinct he possessed. 

“ Shut the bloody hell up, Crowley,” the angel snapped. “ I am still quite cross with you.” Another series of a hot kisses pressed up the column of his throat and Crowely _ whined _ . “ We will discuss this argument _ later,” _his angel continued. “ Is that alright with you?”

“ _ Yessss,” _Crowley hissed, hips hitching towards the angel in desperation. “ Anything you want, angel, anything.”

“ Anything I want?” Aziraphale asked, and how the _ fuck _ was he so calm? Crowley was about to come _ unraveled _and the angel wanted to hold a fucking conversation?

“ Is that not blessedly obvious?” Crowley snapped, ripping his hair from the angel’s grasp to mouth at his neck. It hurt, but it was so very worth it. 

“ That’s it, then? Anything I want, you’ll give me?”

“ Have I denied you _ anything _in the past six thousand years?” Crowley asked, his mouth so far ahead of his brain that it was in a different country, possible on a different planet. 

“ No, you haven’t.” The hand was back in his hair, yanking him upright and holding him perfectly still. Crowley didn’t obey immediately, pulling against Aziraphale’s grasp before stilling like his angel seemed to want, studiously avoiding making eye contact. “ Crowley, look at me.” Unable to resist, Crowley did as he was bid, and it was just as addictive as he’d feared. Aziraphale was flushed, lips slick and swollen. He was still a mussed, dusty mess, but knowing that he’d caused some of that was a drug to Crowley. “ I want you to come to bed with me.”

“ Fuck yes,” Crowley gasped, hitching his hips again. He was gratified to see how that little motion affected Aziraphale, who need to take a moment to school his expression.

“ And then you are _ going _to let me give to you,” he continued.

“ Yes,” Crowley agreed readily. Whatever Aziraphale wanted, he would deliver. It was a foregone conclusion-

_ Wait, what? _

“ Wait, what?” he asked, blinking through the haze of need and fuzzy snake vision.

“ You heard me, Crowley.” Aziraphale all but snarled, and in this new context, _ Satan _did it ever work for Crowley. 

Oh, and wouldn’t that be incredible? To lay back and let his angel take whatever he wanted? It was all already his, of course, whatever he could possibly dream up, but to just lay himself out like a fucking _ buffet _ and watch his angel _ feast _ ? He could imagine no greater gift, no greater punishment, and he was just fucked up enough to _ need _it.

But it was all wrong, completely wrong. Aziraphale was soft, precious and divine. Of course there was steel in him, strength and resolve that could shake the very world apart if he wasn’t so blessedly kind and gentle, but Crowley had long ago accepted it as his own personal duty to provide every whim of Aziraphale’s. It had started like a game, enabling the angel’s own tendency towards indulgence. A little temptation, but nothing serious - he’d never wanted to get Aziraphale in any trouble. But he’d so quickly grown addicted to the angel’s glowing praise and gratitude, it became something he did simply for the sake of it. It was bad enough he did it for his own selfish gratification, to scratch his itch for Aziraphale’s approval, and even worse that he was willing to endanger himself _ and _ Aziraphale to do it. But he couldn’t let Aziraphale return the favor - Hell barely paid him any attention even at their worst, and Heaven monitored the angel much more closely. He didn’t _ deserve _to be rewarded, anyway. For so many painful reasons. He didn’t deserve it, and he didn’t want it.

But he did want this. So badly.

“ This is not negotiable, Crowley,” Aziraphale added, pulling on Crowley’s hair for good measure. 

“ Anything you want, angel.” Crowley groaned. He meant it, at least a little. He’d go along with whatever Aziraphale had in mind, for now, until the opportunity to take control presented itself. After all, he was the demon here, and a tempter besides. 

“ Good,” Aziraphale sighed, pulling him down for another hard, vicious kiss. This much, Crowley was more than happy to go along with.

Crowley resumed the herculean task of divesting Aziraphale of his clothes. He needed them gone ten _ fucking _minutes ago, but somehow, miracling them away felt like cheating. He managed to get the shirt pulled from the trousers, and the buttons all undone. He pushed all of it off Aziraphale’s shoulders, yanking them until Aziraphale was forced to give up his iron grip on Crowley’s hair and shrug out of the clothes. He immediately reached for Crowley again, and Crowley in turn was just thankful his angel wasn’t suddenly possessed by the need to them.

The jacket, shirt, and waistcoat all dropped to the ground in an unceremonious heap, tangled up like their breaths. Aziraphale’s undershirt was yanked over his head, and Crowley’s eager hands ripped open his belt buckle. Aziraphale made a noise into Crowley’s mouth, need and pleasure and impatience all rolled up into one little muffled sound. The belt buckle gave, and the trouser fasteners (so many _ blessed _buttons) fell in quick succession. 

Crowley rippped himself away from Aziraphale’s mouth, swallowing his own whimper at the loss, and dropped to his knees hard enough to rattle his teeth. Aziraphale’s hands immediately twisted into his hair, a breathless groan punching out of him.

“ Crowley, _ darling-” _ he gasped, and Crowley moaned. This was something he could have, something he got to hear, that wondrous sound from his angel’s lips, the way his head craned back and the tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief, the subtle thrust of his hips towards Crowley’s face. This was a bloody _ miracle. _

“ Shhh,” Crowley soothed, leaning forward to kiss and nip at the soft, plush flesh on the angel’s stomach as his hands eagerly pulled beige trousers and white pants down pale thighs. Fuck, how he’d dreamed of this. How could reality surpass even his wildest fantasies? “ ‘V’got you,” he purred. “ I’ll make it good, sssso good-”

“ Crowley, stop,” Aziraphale suddenly commanded, and Crowley froze. “ Stand up.” This, Crowley balked at. He did not want to stand up. He was so close, he could just see the jut of a fantastic-looking Effort. He was so damned close. “ Stand _ up, _ Crowley,” his angel repeated, in a tone that brokered no argument. Crowley _ whined _, long and loud and high, desperate for a stay against what was surely an execution, but he obeyed. “ I am going to be the one giving here.”

Crowley made a noise of complete incomprehension, not unlike the sound a kettle makes when the water is boiling. Did Aziraphale not understand that letting Crowley be on his knees like that, mouth stuffed and jaw aching, _ was _a gift? “ Let me,” he begged. Whatever pride he had died at the flash of thick, pale thigh he’d seen. “ Let me, angel, I’ll be good.”

“ No,” Aziraphale insisted firmly. Thwarted desire lashed through Crowley’s veins like lava, engulfing and burning and _ sizzling. _“ You promised me whatever I wanted.”

“ Anything,” Crowley confirmed, eagerly. 

“ I want you naked, on my bed. Now,” Aziraphale commanded. 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Crowley raised a hand and snapped his fingers, reappearing in the rarely-used bedroom at the top of the staircase. That was probably cheating but he _ so _past caring. From there, he was able to begin the terribly embarrassing process of wriggling out of his skinny jeans, kicking off his shoes in the process. Pants were thrown off to some dark and dusty corner, and socks were similarly lost. 

The last light of the day took a hazy, golden quality through the high, small windows in the room, illuminating yet another room dominated by books. The bedspread was _ dreadful, _but the ripple of energy through the air told Crowley that it would be clean, soft, and comfortable when he got on it. Which presented the crux of the issue - Aziraphale said naked on the bed. He failed to specify precisely how. 

He could hear Aziraphale beginning the ascent up the stairs, and he could have screeched in frustration. How should he get on the bed? Should he pose? Would his angel like that? What the fuck was he supposed to _ do? _ He had to make this good, it had to be good. Should he be tempting? Demure? 

But Aziraphale was steps away from the top of the stairs and Crowley had no options left, muttering a quick “ Fuck it” to himself and diving onto the bedspread. Which meant that, naturally, Aziraphale reached the top just in time to see Crowley flailing and attempting to get to his back so he wasn’t _ ass up _ like a damned pin up model - unless Aziraphale was into that. Was Aziraphale into that?

_ Fuck. _

His angel paused at the top of the stairs, staring, and Crowley, the Serpent in the Garden, Tempter and Purveyor of Sin, would have happily discorporated painfully rather than sit still and exposed without any clue as to whether Aziraphale liked what he saw… what if he hated it? What if he suddenly remembered that he was an angel and above such base desires, especially with a tarnished, foul demon, of all things? Funnily enough, though, his physical interest was just as _ piqued _as before, if not more so.

“ You beautiful, irresistible creature,” Aziraphale breathed, and fast enough to give himself whiplash, Crowley was upended into the blissful, awesome pleasure of his angel’s praise. It was like a heated caress, leaving flushed skin and panted breath in its wake. His cock pulsed almost painfully, and he had to fight to keep himself upright. He needed touch, he needed skin, he needed to have his lips against heat and every sharp line of himself arched into warm, angelic curves. 

“ Angel, c’mere,” he purred, deferring to his old standby in tempting. “ Let me make you feel good, I’ll be so good for you,” he continued, arching himself up. A display, as artfully plated as he could manage, spine arched to showcase every taut line and muscle he knew drove humans to lustful excess. It was the bloody point of him, the point of this corporation, and now he could finally use it the way he’d always longed to.

As though drawn by sheer magnetism, Aziraphale stepped closer, letting go of the grip he had on his trousers via his belt. They dropped to the ground and he simply stepped out of them, leaving Crowley’s mouth watering with want.

“ You want to be good for me?” Aziraphale asked, his voice gone beautifully rough.

“ Yessss,” Crowley hissed, nodding eagerly. 

“ Lay down and spread your legs.”

Crowley couldn’t comply fast enough, dropping to the bed with a thump. He angled himself so his head hung off the bed, grinning wildly at a now upside down angel. “ Like this?” he asked, perfectly aware that this was _ not _what Aziraphale had meant. “ C’mere, angel,” he breathed, feeling a completely unintentional flicker of demonic energy lacing his words. It was definitely nothing Aziraphale couldn’t shrug off easily, but it was there. The angel shivered, the tent in his pants twitching tellingly. 

“ Turn around, Crowley,” Aziraphale demanded instead of giving in, pulling against the occult enticement threaded in Crowley’s very voice. That resolute strength was so dear, so desperately beloved, and so mind-bendingly arousing. 

“ Let me,” Crowley coaxed, even as every fiber of his being ached to move as Aziraphale bid. “ I want you,” he continued, freely letting the demonic suggestion lace through his words. It was a tool, another way he could touch Aziraphale, and he would be twice-damned if he didn’t use it now that he knew he had it. “ I want to feel you, stretching my jaw out, in my fucking throat. I want to choke on you.”

“ You promised me anything _ I _wanted,” Aziraphale’s voice was ragged, his whole being leaning subtly towards Crowley, and what a heady rush of power that was. 

“ Tell me you don’t want me like this,” Crowley dared him.

“ I do, oh Lord, I _ do,” _Aziraphale confirmed with such startling ease that Crowley was suddenly glad to not be standing. “ But you are going to let me give to you. Sit up.”

Crowley pouted, but it was clear Aziraphale had no intention of giving an inch, so he did as he was told, sitting on the bed with his thighs spread as invitingly as he could manage. Aziraphale hadn’t told him he could get _ off _the bed yet, but if his angel would just touch him, would just let himself be touched, Crowley was sure he could seize control, ply his beautiful angel into a blissed out mess beneath him. He just had to convince Aziraphale to let him.

“ Do you even know how lovely you are?” Aziraphale asked, jarring Crowley from his thoughts with more hushed, awe-filled praise. “ You must,” he concluded, without waiting for a reply as he finally, _ finally _reached the bed. So eager and hungry, Crowley surged up, reaching for him with greedy hands. “ No, sit back, darling,” Aziraphale admonished him, reaching out to run a palm down Crowley’s chest when he obeyed. That alone made not being allowed to touch worth it.

And then, defying all sense and awareness of the natural order of things, Aziraphale sank to his knees before the bed. With reptilian quickness, Crowley lunged to get away, but Aziraphale’s strong hands grabbed his hips and yanked him to the edge of the bed, legs hanging off. 

Crowley froze again, wracked with indecision. This was not how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be _ him _ on his knees, worshipping Aziraphale in every conceivable way, lavishing lust and devotion on him. To see the reverse, an angel knelt before a demon, was a fucking _ desecration, _ and not because of the angel and demon thing. It was because it was _ Aziraphale, _ the unequaled best of all the Holy Host, in Crowley’s not-so-humble opinion. The kindest, gentlest, most _ good _being in all the universe deserved to be worshipped, and anything less was unthinkable. 

But beyond those lofty ideals, it was also _ Aziraphale, _ the most beloved being Crowley had ever known and would ever know, the one thing in all the universe that mattered more than anything else. It was _ Aziraphale, _ with his stodgy clothes and fussy manners and magpie tendencies and all his impossibly dear idiosyncrasies that drove Crowley absolutely mad with frustration and adoration. Anything Aziraphale wanted couldn’t be _ bad, _ right? And this, this pleasure? Freely offered and given? Fuck, how Crowley _ wanted _ it. 

“ I will stop, if you want me to,” Aziraphale whispered, gently pulling Crowley’s thighs apart. Crowley’s will to resist was crumbling. “ I won’t ever do anything you truly don’t want,” he continued, leaning to press soft, adoring lips to Crowley’s lean thigh. “ But darling, _ I want this. _I want to give to you. I want to feel you, just like you profess to want to feel me.”

Oh, how easily Crowley’s heart shattered, like spun glass against a fucking sledgehammer.

“ Let me give this to you,” Aziraphale murmured, kissing Crowley’s other thigh, just a bit higher. “ Let me adore you. It’s a fraction of what you deserve, but let me try. Will you be good for me and let me be good for you?”

“ _ Yesss,” _Crowley hissed, helpless and overwhelmed. “ Can I touch you?” he asked in a rush before Aziraphale could dip his head into Crowley’s lap. “ Please, let me touch you.”

“ God, please do,” Aziraphale moaned, his mouth closing abruptly over Crowley’s cock. 

Pleasure _ sizzled. _It burned, rushing out from where his length slid into slick, wet heat and frying his nerves in its wake. His thighs spread wider, making space for Aziraphale to wedge his broad shoulders into. Tongue and palate and the briefest brush of teeth, the tight ring of lips sliding down his cock nearly to the very root. Breath punched out of his chest like a punctured balloon, utterly unnecessary, and his hands dove into pale gold curls, gripping far harder than he’d intended.

“ ‘Ziraphale, angel, oh _ angel,” _ he groaned, whimpering as his angel pulled back and then slid back down, slowly letting the head of Crowley’s cock fuck into his throat and greeting it with a reflexive swallow. Crowley hunched over him, unable to stay upright, curling in on himself as bliss tore up his spine and back down, pooling and spreading through is limbs. He felt heavy, enclosed, _ safe _ for all that his heart was pounding in his chest. It was like being pulled by the tide, inexorable and unstoppable, and if he just relaxed into it, he’d be swept away. 

But he couldn’t relax. He was far too focused on holding still, being _ good _(bless it, how did he always get into the most undemonic things?). This was special, important. He couldn’t ruin it, and if he did, he’d never forgive himself. He had to be still, let Aziraphale do as he wanted, absolutely not thrust up into the wet heat of his mouth or twine those gorgeous curls around his fingers and pull down. He had to be still. He had to be good. He would be good. 

Aziraphale pulled back, his hand replacing his mouth. His cheeks were flushed and his lips slick. Crowley groaned at the sight, and at the tight fist moving up and down his length. 

“ Does this feel good?" His angel asked, which was utterly nonsensical because Crowley had never felt so damned good in his very long life. Even divine ecstasy had nothing on this feeling. 

" Ngkffffuck, angel, 'sbloody incredible, 'swhat it is," he managed to reply, though he felt he had to pry the words from his jaws.

" Then why are you so still, darling?" Azitaphale asked, the picture of innocence perverted. He drove his point home by leaning in to lick a stripe up the underside of Crowley's cock, from the root and finishing with a swirl around the head usually reserved for particularly good ice cream. 

Crowley's jaw dropped open, thankfully staying hinged. What a mood killer that would have been. He was definitely never going to look at Aziraphale's favorite ice cream cones the same way. 

He had absolutely no words - some silver tongued serpent he was. So instead, he adjusted his grip on Aziraphale's hair, tugging experimentally back towards his aching prick. His angel smiled happily up at him, a familiar expression - nearly the same as the one he made when Crowley brought him a particularly good treat. 

" Perfect, my dearest," Aziraphale murmured against his heated length, making his hips buck towards the angel's mouth and smearing a line of precome on his lips.

" Sorry-" Crowley gasped, releasing his grip like he'd been burned.

" Crowley, don't-" Aziraphale sighed, exasperated, and Crowley panicked. He'd already ruined this and it had barely started, that had to be a record. He started glancing around the room, looking for the best escape tactic. He could simply miracle himself somewhere? Perhaps the bottom of the ocean or onto the surface of the sun? 

Strong, steady hands grasped his and he found his fingers shoved back into the angel's hair. " Darling, I _ want _you to do that. Move for me." Aziraphale paused. " Please," he added.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled his angel's head back down, giving him every opportunity to stop or say no, until the head of his cock slipped past those beautiful, divine lips. Unable to stop himself, he thrust shallowly into his angel's mouth and froze. But the Aziraphale _ moaned _ around his length, tongue working encouragingly against his length.

" _ Fuck," _ he whispered, more to himself than anything else. He pulled Aziraphale up, almost off entirely, and then back down again, deeper and rougher and so blissfully good that he shook to his very core. Aziraphale made a muffled sound of pure need and _ sucked _, and then, Crowley came. Violently.

The ecstasy ripped through him, pulling his already frayed nerves apart. His breath rattled out of him in a shrill noise and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Oh he'd had a few wanks over the centuries (more than a few but less than ten million) and it had _ never _ felt like _ this. _

He slowly came back down, becoming aware of the fact that he was being stroked and petted. It was nice. He opened his eyes abruptly, remembering where he was and who he was with and what had just happened, the apology already on his lips.

" Shhhh, it's alright, dearest. You were so good," his angel whispered against his temple, apparently having climbed up into his lap to gentle him down. " So incredibly good. Absolutely perfect."

The praise tingled, awakening his body again as surely as the sight of Aziraphale, hair mussed and lips swollen and mostly naked, grinding a thick, hard cock into Crowley's hip. Humans had refractory periods, but demons didn't have to, and Crowley was very much inclined to ignore that custom. Riding the last of the endorphins from his orgasm, he reached up and grasped Aziraphale’s face and drew him in for a desperate kiss. He didn’t have the presence of mind to go slow or be sensual - it was pure need that drove him. 

He toppled them both onto the bedspread, swinging one leg over Aziraphale’s hip to straddle him. 

“ Darling-” Aziraphale murmured urgently against his lips.

“ Need you,” Crowley responded, leaning down until they were chest to chest. The feeling of skin to skin, chest hairs tickling, angelic scent flooding his nose, was making him delirious. He didn’t look cool, he was dimly aware - he looked desperate. Rather than trying to calm himself down, he let the thought inflame him further, rutting his hips down and catching against Aziraphale’s answering heat.

“ _ Darling-” _Aziraphale breathed, head hitching back. His whole chest was flushed, a veritable canvas just waiting to be kissed, sucked, bitten, and gently bruised. 

“ Want you, need you, please,” Crowley continued. “ I’ll be good, like you wanted, promise, just gimme.”

“ What do you want?” Aziraphale asked, his cock twitching. 

_ He _ likes _ this, _Crowley realized, and it was like being punched in the gut. 

“ Anything, darling, anything you want,” Aziraphale promised, an echo of Crowley’s own words. His hands slipping down Crowley’s back to grasp at his hips, anchoring him and pulling him close. Crowley squirmed, _ writhed, _ serpentine and so very eager. The instinct, the urge to give Aziraphale whatever _ he _ wanted was there, clawing at the back of his mind, but he ignored it. His angel was _ into _ this, badly, wonderfully. 

And from the very depths of his soul, the darkest, deepest parts of him, rose a series of images he’d imagined so often, they were practically dogeared and worn. It was something he reserved for when he was at his most maudlin and depressed, when things seemed their most hopeless. It was something he craved, something that had always made his jaw drop open and his orgasm rip out of him when he dared to imagine it mid-wank. Something he only barely allowed himself to imagine in the privacy of his mind, and had certainly never imagined he’d actually had.

He didn’t let himself panic or doubt or even think. “ Inside me,” he panted, rutting against his angel. Aziraphale, in response, let his head drop back against the bed and groaned. Crowley froze. He’d misjudged, he’d fucked up, here came the other shoe-

In a blink, he found himself on his back with Aziraphale leaning over him.

“ I bloody _ hoped _you’d say that,” he moaned, leaning down for another one of those mind-scrambling kisses. 

“ Oh,” Crowley replied when his lips were free, frowning. “ Did you miracle me- you did!” Aziraphale looked far too pleased with himself to pass for contrite. “ How’s that for frivolous- Oh!” Aziraphale cut him off by leaning down and _ biting _the spot where his neck met his shoulder, lingering on the spot with a long, sucking kiss that was sure to bruise. Fuck, he hoped it bruised. 

His angel leaned back, pleased with his handiwork, and smoothed his hands down Crowley’s chest. Crowley felt his lips part at the sensation, arching his back to press up into Aziraphale’s hands. 

“ Gorgeous,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley craned his head back. “ You like that, don’t you?” Crowley made a vague noise in response, embarrassed. “ That’s good. There’s ever so many things I want to say about how perfect and beautiful you are.”

“ Angel…” Crowley whined, lifting his hips urgently just as Aziraphale’s hands found his hip bones, rolling his thumbs over the jut of them.

“ Shh, darling, don’t worry. I’ll make you feel good,” his angel assured him, grasping his thighs and pressing them up and back. Crowley caught his intent and pulled his knees to his chest, struggling to regulate his breathing as he held up a hand and snapped. He winced, feeling himself open and grow slick in a rush. Aziraphale blinked, glancing from Crowley’s hand and down between his thighs, before realization dawned. “ Really, my dear? I wanted to do that myself.”

“ Nope,” Crowley shook his head emphatically. “ Need you. Now.”

“ Well, I suppose there’s always next time,” Aziraphale replied, flushing adorably. 

Crowley let his head fall back against the bed, the breath gusting right out of him. _ Next time. _There was going to be a next time. He not only got to have this, but he could have it again. He blinked furiously at the ceiling, realizing it had grown dark. He wasn’t crying, though. He was a fierce, dangerous demon. He was absolutely not blinking back tears.

“ Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice cut through the haze of emotions too delicate to name, and Crowley lifted his head to meet his angel’s gaze. Aziraphale had slipped between his legs, taking himself in hand and angling to push in, and Crowely really wasn’t sure if his poor, stressed heart could take much more of this. He was pretty sure his corporation wasn’t made to handle all this. “ Dearest, are you-”

“ If you ask me if I’m fucking sure, I swear to God or Satan or _who the fuck ever_, I will tackle you to this bed and fuck myself on your cock,” Crowley snarled. “ I. Am. Sure. So fucking sure.”

Aziraphale blinked. “ For the record, I would like that scenario in greater detail later,” he said abruptly.

“ Noted,” Crowley snapped. “ Now, angel,” he added in whine, undulating to drive his point home.

Aziraphale liked delayed gratification. Aziraphale would wait decades to enjoy his wines, just to be sure they were properly aged. Aziraphale enjoyed the anticipation, the suspense. He liked to let it build up into a crescendo. Aziraphale’s favorite part of a symphony was right before the sweeping finale. 

But Crowley? His pleasures could not arrive fast enough. He raced through his joys and lamented their loss the moment they were over. He wasn’t patient, hated tension, suspense, anticipation. Useful tools for temptations, sure, but for himself? He’d skip straight to the finale every time if he could.

He tried so hard to be good. He tried so desperately to hold still, to let Aziraphale breach him with slow, patient intent. That initial burn was dull, thanks to his miracle, but still just present enough to make him whine. Aziraphale’s cock was thick, far thicker than any of the toys Crowley owned or even the few human lovers he’d taken over the centuries. But it was perfect - hard and hot and so _ real _. But Aziraphale was going so blessedly slow… 

Unable to take it, Crowley bucked his hips with a huff, and Aziraphale grabbed his hips to hold him still. Crowley thrashed in response, wild to get Aziraphale deeper, as deep as possible.

“ Shh, darling, relax, I don’t want to hurt you,” his angel tried to soothe him, rubbing circles against his hips with strong thumbs. 

“ Worth it,” Crowley groaned, struggling one final time against Aziraphale’s grip before falling back against the bed. Aziraphale finally bottomed out, grinding deliciously into that wondrous spot that had Crowley seeing stars, honing in on it with single minded dedication. “ Fuck,” Crowley breathed, cock pulsing and leaking against his own abdomen.

“ Good?” Aziraphale asked, breathless.

“ Better than,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale withdrew slowly, only to fuck right back in with measured force, angled just so to drag against that spot, and Crowley moaned in response, sounding pornographic to his own ears. “ More, harder, please,” he panted.

And maybe, he thought, maybe Aziraphale got that same high he got when he gave his angel just the right gift, because that plea had him quaking and closing his eyes before withdrawing and thrusting back in _ hard. _

“ Fuck!” Crowley cried, every muscle in his lower body clenching wildly. “ Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted, egging his angel on by rolling his hips in time with each thrust. He refused to shut his eyes, forcing them not go snakey with pure will so that he could clearly watching Aziraphale come apart, muscle that was easy to miss under all those clothes working as he moved. It was almost better being gloriously pounded into. Almost. 

“ You feel so good, darling, so _ fucking _good,” Aziraphale groaned, and Crowley slammed his head back into the mattress and for the second time that night, came, untouched and all over his stomach. Ecstasy washed over him again, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as he arched up. So sensitive, too sensitive, but still Aziraphale moved inside him, driving into that sweet spot relentlessly. He could feel every rigid inch plunging and withdrawing. “ Darling, I’m- oh, where?” 

Crowley wasn’t sure exactly how he was able to parse that mess of a sentence into a complete thought, especially when he was still writhing in the drawn out aftershocks of his orgasm, but he did. “ Inside,” he squeaked, a very undemonic sound that he’d later deny vehemently. 

Aziraphale’s thrusts took on a frantic, wild cant, driving into him hard enough to scoot him up the bed. Crowley slammed his hands back against the awful brass and wood headboard, bracing himself to meet each thrust with as much force as possible. Aziraphale answered by slamming into him, hard, violent, enough to shatter human bones, but Crowley was not human. Crowley was a demon, and before that, he’d been an angel. He’d pressed atoms and particles together in his hands hard enough to form _ stars. _He’d never been able to unleash that strength, the sheer power capable of fusing atoms, with anyone in six millenia. Until now. And Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, was more than capable of taking that force and dishing the same and more right back. 

The next thrust split the solid oak headboard in two, and Crowley howled in bliss and celebration. His angel, his lover, his _ Aziraphale, _ and look how fucking glorious he was, how strong and beautiful and _ powerful. _ Another thrust, and the bed frame groaned ominously. Crowley was hard _ again, _ and entertaining vague thoughts of fucking the blessed _ building _down, until Aziraphale suddenly changed the pace from slow and hard to fast and harder, essential pounding anything resembling thought right out of Crowley’s head. 

Crowley braced one hand against the remains of the headboard and used his other to reach between them and grasp his own cock.

Aziraphale made a noise, strained and wild, before closing his own hand over Crowley’s and pumping once, twice, in time with his thrusts, and that was all it took to blank out Crowley’s mind. He was vaguely aware, nerves sizzling and cock throbbing, of Aziraphale’s thrusts stuttering before warmth flooded him. He could feel his angel throbbing, and it was so good, so much, that he might have sobbed. It didn’t matter, he’d deny it later, and there was no one to hear but Aziraphale.

The world was finally still, silent but for their panting and unnecessary breaths. Crowley couldn’t even drum up the energy to be anxious, just pushed his worries aside and opened his arms to Aziraphale, who made a soft sound of gratitude and collapsed down on his chest. A few adjustments and Aziraphale was snuggled soundly against his side, already snoring softly.

Apparently, the only time Aziraphale slept was right after a really good fuck. Furthermore, it appeared that the only time Crowley _ couldn’t _ sleep was right after a mindblowing fuck with Aziraphale. He ached deliciously, still relieving everything that had just happened, feeling Aziraphale’s come slowly slip out of him. He couldn’t bring himself to miracle away the mess quite yet.

_ Just one thing, _ he decided. _ Just one quick thing and then I’ll sleep. _

“ ‘Ziraphale?” he murmured. Apparently, his tongue wasn’t working fully yet. 

“ Mmm?” his angel hummed in answer.

“ M’in love with you.”

“ I love you too, dearest.” 

“ ‘Kay,” Crowley breathed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Aziraphale’s breathing evening out again. “ Oh my Satan,” he muttered softly.

If he’d known that was all it would take to get Aziraphale into bed with him, he’d have called him a coward literal _ ages _ago.

Better late than never, he supposed.

**Author's Note:**

> I am a human dumpster fire and I'm so sorry for this mess. Yell at me on twitter, @The_Gypsy_Queen, about how bad it is. I'm so ashamed.


End file.
